To Write Love on Her Arms
by strawberryfinn
Summary: JONAS. I’ve seen the way she does it. She uses a pen to scrawl out thoughts on her arms. One day, I see tears mat her eyelashes together. She’s wearing long-sleeves, and I slip down one sleeve. It’s then that I read her story. Nick Lucas-centric
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**: Nick Lucas falls in love. :D

**TO WRITE LOVE ON HER ARMS**

I mean I've seen the way she does it before. She usually just pulls a ballpoint pen from her pocket. Then she takes the pen firmly between her fingers and scrawls out whatever she's thinking. On her arms, no less. Right on the skin. Always on her arms.

Maybe it's because if she doesn't write things down she loses herself. She loses a memory, I guess.

I used to think if I did something like that—writing things on my arms, you know—it would be kind of weird. People would look at me and I wouldn't always want people to know what I'm thinking, like somehow subconsciously they've discovered something about me that I don't know.

But then I figure out that's her point. She doesn't care what people think about her or if they know what she's thinking. She doesn't care at all; she's proud of her thoughts and her memories and overall, just _herself_. I think she's beautiful for that.

One day after _it_ has happened, she sits next to me. I'm leaning against a wall of our school; she comes up silently and leans her head back too.

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to.

She starts crying. I look over and see the tears mat her eyelashes together and cascade down her face. I see her face crumple up as she buries her face in her arms—her arms, not her hands—and sniffles quietly.

It's then that I notice she's wearing a long-sleeved shirt. The first time I've ever seen her hide her arms.

I move over to her and slip down one of the sleeves. She doesn't move away; she lets me push the sleeve all the way up her arm so I can see her skin.

And it's then that I read the entire story.

* * *

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	2. Chapter 1

**1.**

_That's what I go to school for  
Even though it is a real bore  
You can call me crazy  
She is so amazing,_  
-"What I Go To School For" by the Jonas Brothers

It's absolutely nerve-wracking. You know the way it feels when you're new in school and everybody stares at you. You can feel your heart beat incredible leaps in your chest and you wonder if you're going to die because there's absolutely no way that your head should be spinning that fast. You think your brain is going to explode with an emotional overload and it's all you can do from running away and retreating to a corner where you can pretend you're five again and making friends and impressions is easy—all you have to do is throw sand to become the class clown or share an Oreo cookie and make a new best friend.

Well it's almost impossible to make good first impressions in high school. The place is full of sharks that are ready to devour you any second and your heart feels like it will explode and your head isn't getting enough oxygen. You can't breathe and it feels like somebody's squeezing your throat and you're sucking in air from a straw. You want to scream but in order to do that you have to breathe.

You know that kid that you see the beginning of every year who tucks his hands into his pockets and slumps down and tries his hardest to be absolutely invisible? The kid that seems to find the ground absolutely fascinating and will look nowhere else?

Well I'm that kid.

I'm that kid that doesn't know how to fit in and talk to the kids sitting around me. I'm that weird kid that people stare at and then look away from. I'm that kid that nobody wants to risk associating with because I might taint reputations.

I guess that being home schooled for the last few years may have added something to my awkwardness. My mom says that home-schooled kids always turn out being the best but unless the best means a severe lack of social skills, it's an absolute lie.

I feel completely out of place standing here at my locker, staring at the kids talking among themselves and catching up; it's absolutely unbelievable. This is a fate I hope nobody will ever have to suffer. I watch the girls trade lip gloss containers and the guys give each other high fives. I watch the couples basically glue themselves together even though it's obvious they spent the entire summer together and then pull themselves apart like their pieces of taffy being ripped when they see someone else they want to talk to. I watch some girls try too hard to get attention by flaunting in front of the boys and it makes my heart hurt.

I wish girls could see that they are beautiful without lowering their standards.

No, I've never had a girlfriend.

I look away and turn to my locker instead. I grip the lock and stare at the combination that I pull out of my pocket. _Come on Nick, it was your idea to start high school. I want to go to a REAL school—gees what were you thinking?_

I unlock it and busy myself with putting books inside. I try to focus on the titles that say _Catcher In The Rye_, _English I_, _Algebra II_—instead of looking at the people in the hallway because I know they'll make me want to cry. When I'm finished I close the locker door and turn around.

I'm not surprised if people say I jumped at least five feet in the air.

Standing at the locker next to me is a girl. She was—well _is_—staring straight at me and she probably was while I was putting my books in. Well staring at the side of my locker. She has hazel, doe-like eyes and brown hair gathered in two braids. I look her up and down and then flush furiously.

I usually try to avoid making girls uncomfortable but I had to stare—well, I'll tell you why.

Crisscrossed over her arms are words. I think maybe a hundred of them—big and small and cursive and print—all over right on her skin. As far as I can see they're pretty much all covered except for some random patches. Words that look like they're written with those cheap click black pens or ballpoint pens you can get from Staples trail up to her short sleeves—words like love, hope and then there's sentences like "I want to be infinite." She's wearing a t-shirt that has "RETRO" stamped across it in huge letters and a pair of dark grey jeans and a pair of canvas shoes that I'm pretty sure are homemade.

She notices me staring and looks at me with her big doe eyes that make my heart hitch. She opens her mouth but it's not "Hey, I'm _____" that comes out but it's one simple four word sentence that pretty much sums up what my friendship is going to be with her.

"Do you love me?"

I stare at her, absolutely astounded. It seems like a million answers come to my mind. "Huh?" seems like the best one and my mouth flops open. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody told me I looked like a goldfish.

Other answers that rush to my head are, "What?", "Are you psycho?", "Um…".

I look at her with her writing on her arms and her hopeful doe eyes and I don't know what causes it but I manage to get control over my throat and answer with the first thing that comes to my mind.

"Yes."

She smiles then, a lopsided spiel across her face and I start to think that maybe high school won't be so bad.


End file.
